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Conor Oragen
Conor Oragen Name: Conor Age: Twenty-one ( 21 ) Alliance: Demons Character Appearance Conor is of a height of about 6 feet 8, a decently tall height for the average demon. He has a head of long, straight hair which is dyed a dark shade of-black. He originally had sandy blond-brown hair, yet he changed this when he became a demon to mark his significance as one. His eyes are a dark, dull shade of purple. He has a fair, calm face free of any freckles, spots etc. Conor's skin/complexion is coloured a somewhat pale white, almost similar to that of snow. He has an oddly shaped birthmark on his left arm, which almost seems to represent some kind of crescent-shaped object. Conor has rather small hands with thin fingers, along with being left-handed. Conor generally wears lightweight meteor armor in combat, dyed a darker colour group of colours such as dark purple and black. Although the defence offered by it isn't great, it increases his magic strength and durability, along with keeping him flexible, mobile and quick when in a combat scenario. His more casual attire consists of a gray, immaculately cleaned light jacket. . He wears dark-gray/black-like running jeans, along with black shoes. Conor's also of a somewhat skinny and small muscle build. His wings are larger than all the other demons as a result of the demonlord ceremony, and while he's most certainly not the strongest in physical strength among other demons, he's far from the weakest despite his rather frail appearance. Character Personality If you haven't gathered it by now, Conor's essentially a goth of sorts. He has a cold, distant attitude to people who doesn't know very well, and a dark, cruel attitude to people he dislikes or hate. When in the presence of people whom he shares a respect or in the rare case a friendship, this turns into a more warming and homely personality in which Conor might come across as a more friendly person. He hates people who are dishonest and lie to squirm out of bad situations. When in combat, Conor plays to win. The majority of the time he fights fairly, yet if the situation is dire and something large is at stake, he'll fight incredibly dirty to obtain victory any way possible. Any way at all. Present Day Conor: Memories. What goes on behind the calm, collected mask known as my face remains a mystery to everyone, even myself. It's like this; My mind is a deep pit of memories. Sad memories, angry memories, life-changing memories.... So many different kinds of memories. The fact is, none of them are pleasant. If my mind is like a library, then all the books are horror stories of how I became to be the person I am today. I don't even need to write them down, because the instant I think of a memory, I recall an event from my destroyed childhood, which was brutally snatched away from me in less than a minute. I might be done with the actions of my past for now, but they're always there... Sitting in the dark depths of my shattered mind, waiting for an opportunity to haunt me. Destroy what little left there is of my mind. My memories. My life. Perhaps it hasn't always been that way. Some of the events from my past have been... good. Not happy memories, but good ones. Perhaps some of the 'good' ones appear horrific and scary to those who are squeamish, but honestly, I'm done caring what people think about me. Anyway... Hiding those memories is easy. You just push them down and try and run from them and ignore them. What I've learnt over my life is that you can't just do that. You can try and run, but it won't work. It feels good when you're running, though. Like you're making a difference, though you clearly know it's fake. No, not fake... An illusion. Yeah. Similar to the way a person might find an 'exit' in a forest, only to find they've gone back to where they started. Bad memories wash over me even now... I recall an event from my childhood? Or is it just my imagination taunting me, trying to make me lose my mind... Doesn't matter either way; They're both a nightmare. I'm running. I want to turn around and look at what's behind me, but I can't. Fear has gripped hold of me completely, and I find myself paralysed. My legs feel like blocks of lead, it's beginning to cause a painful muscle fatigue in them as I find myself slowing down as I run, driven to the limit by adrenaline and fear. Mercifully I see a light in the distance. I push myself further, running at the light, using a final burst of energy from deep within. Sounds erupt from around me, though I can't pick them out over the sound of my heart thumping out well over a hundred beats a minute. I'm gasping for breath, feet pounding on the ground, each step sounding like a supernova in my mind.'' Yes... I'm getting closer to the light.. A hundred metres turns to fifty. Fifty to twenty-five. Twenty-five to ' fifteen. Fifteen to five. I'm going to make it! 'I'm going to survive! YES! I sprint with all my might at the light, I throw myself through it, not caring what happens, I've escaped! It'll be all right now, I think to myself. I've made it away from the... thing after me. It's gone, unable to follow me, yes... No... It's still there, it's coming to get me. I give a squeak of fear as I try to get up off the ground, but I can't. I've used up all my energy, I'm going to die here no please don't I don't want to die plea-'' ''Everything goes black, and I die. That's how the 'event' always ends, with the 'thing' killing me. Luckily I always seem to snap back to reality after this, escaping from it. I thank myself for that much, at least. I feel like it's a cycle of sorts... Yes, that sounds about right. But when the sun goes down, and I go to sleep, that's when the real nightmare begins. Character Backstory Conor: Raihez National Prison for Young Offenders ( Aged 13-15 ) I give a dismantled groan as I awake. The first thing I'm aware of is the fact I'm lying on a stone-cold, rock-hard floor. I give my legs a quick shake, wincing as a spasm of excruciating pain runs up my leg. The pain comforts me; It means I'm still alive. I'm hit by a heavy urge for water, my throat feels like it was set on fire, it's that cracked and hoarse. I'm lying in something in liquid-form; Most likely my own urine. After what's happened to me I'd probably piss myself ten times over with fear. My eyes are surrounded by a thin layer of crust, which instantly causes me to close them due to the irritation. I heave my arms which feel like heavy rocks up to my face, and clean the gunk off my eyelids. There's something gross on my hands, it feels horribly warm and slimy compared to the dark, cold sensation off the... cell? I'm in. As my eyes open, there's not much of a difference. There's an incredibly dim light coming from somewhere in or around the room, but it's so feeble you could practically just dismiss it as a slight change in the darkness. As my eyes grow accustomed to this darkness, I become vaguely aware of something around my wrists and legs. I give them an instinctive shake and I'm greeted by a dull, metallic clank. I curse inside my mind as it dawns on me that they're shackles, pinning me to the wall. I lie there in the dark for several minutes, gathering my strength to sit up. The silence is broken by the sounds of my loud breathing and the occasional drip-drop from a leak somewhere in the room. Finally I make my move, and with some kind of superhuman effort, I manage to raise my upper body up. Frantically I feel for the shackles and half-crawl, half-drag myself to the wall they're attached to. I prop myself against the wall, feeling a sense of achievement from my small feat. In my condition even my breathing is laboured. I begin to pick out my surroundings after I'm in a halfway comfortable position and I regain the energy used in my previous movement. From what I can tell, the dripping noise I heard earlier is coming from somewhere around me. I make my way to it, using the wall to guide myself along. Eventually I feel something land in my hand with a disgusting plop. This gunk all over my hands is really beginning to freak me out. I rub my other hand over it, and it comes away, now stuck to the hand which I rubbed it with. I give a cry of surprise as I quickly draw my hand back to the wall, rubbing the stuff against it to get it off my hand. I have no way of telling what it is until there's a light in here... I return to my previous goal; Finding the liquid. I once again put my hand out, and let it fall into my hand once more. I bring the hand to my nose and sniff it cautiously. It's an odourless substance; Possibly water. There's only one way to find out in this darkness. I cup my hands and wait for the liquid to drop some more into them. Once I have a decent amount, I carefully pour it into my mouth, unsure of the liquid's properties or taste. It's water. I give a slight smile. The water is deliciously cold and clean, and I instantly feel it's effects. My throat begins to cool down as I continue to drink. Once my quench for water is gone, I return to my more current predicament. My forehead has a dull ache where I was knocked out. I put my finger to it, feeling a nasty curve in my skin as it gradually slopes into a large bump. I hope it's not permanent. I hope it doesn't make me become punch-drunk. Normally I'm not one, but two steps ahead of the opposition, yet here I am. Sitting here in this cold, dark cell by myself, like a pathetic little sod. There's a rumbling noise and I'm alarmed until it dawns on me that it's my stomach growling for food. That's a second issue; Water was the main priority. I could go several days without food if nessecary, but my strength would slowly sap until I was a feeble bag of flesh and bones. Not happening on my watch; I'm going to get out of here or I'm going to die trying. Hours pass. I have no proper way of telling what time it is down here, so I use the dripping water like a timer. It falls approximately once every two seconds, meaning that for every thirty drops it's one minute. Using this system, I begin to keep track of the time. My body clock is most likely out of tune; Being out like a light for hours, possibly days means that I can't know whether it's day or night, dusk or dawn. The growing pang in my stomach is an ever-growing reminder that if I don't get some nourishment soon, I'll be in trouble. Sitting back against the wall, feeling it's cool-touch, I close my eyes, reflecting on the events which lead up to where I am now. The birth. The childhood. The memories. The capture. ... ... Conor: City of Raihez ( Aged 0-13 ) Born into a family of two. Myself, my mother and my brother. I have no idea who my current father is, and I doubt I ever will. I was not like my family at all; Well-mannered, polite, doing what was right. Unlike them, who stole and swore and insisted on doing anything for personal gain.We were among the poorest of the poor, each of us with our own dark history with crime and violence. We lived in a huge city called Raihez, which is located on a moderately-large island north of Pyro. My mother was involved in the dark underworld of this city. Gangs, prostitution, drugs. What frightens me is that she didn't seem to do this just so she could put food in our mouths; She enjoyed doing it. It terrifies me to think of the fact that I might be an accident, a mishap, despite growing up under the watchful eye of her. My brother worked in the coal mines. Being several years older than me, it meant he was conscripted to do such work. Living nowhere in particular, just on the streets. We had a terrible life, but it worked fairly well and we were rarely short of food, occasionally made easier by my mother or brother getting arrested for shoplifting or the like. I didn't really feel any emotional attachment to my family, like they were strangers. Autistic or something like that. No. That's not right. It was because I felt like a spare part, an outsider when in their company. When I was ten, that was when things started going further to hell for me. My brother had developed a critical lung condition and a deformed back from working in the mines so long. Not being able to afford hospital care, his days were numbered and ultimately, he came face to face with the thing I fear the most to this day: Death himself. The death hit my mother hard, and she became seemingly lethargic, moods being poisoned quickly, rarely breaking out in a toothy grin like she did. I got the impression she blamed me for what had happened to my brother, despite doing nothing at all. Perhaps that's why. Because I did nothing. It wasn't until I was thirteen that my mother began have me get involved in dark activities. It wasn't anything big at first; Delivering packages of drugs, following a certain person, even the occasional gang fight. My world seemed to grow darker and more sinister as I plunged deeper and deeper into the putrid lake of the crime ring. Until one day, where I couldn't have been less prepared for what happened. "Mom?" I mumble, terrified. There's a scary silence."Mom? Are you there? Please answer... Please." No answer. The darkness around me seems to crush me, push in on me. I cringe, retreating further and further into my mind. I'm panicking; There's absolute silence. My heart is thumping like crazy, it feels like a bomb is going off in my head each time it beats. Badump badump badump. Suddenly there's a loud banging noise from beneath me, coming from downstairs, followed by shouts. I pick up parts of what's being said, though I can't make sense of it. "They're not here..." "Search the building properly, they can't have escaped this quickly." My heart leaps into my mouth as footsteps pound up the stairs of our small flat which we'd been renting. I pull my head under the blanket, just wanting them to go away, knowing it won't happen. I curl up into a ball and begin to cry, as the reality of what's just happened soaks into my mind; I've been left behind. My heart instantly shatters, and my soul seemingly breaks into two parts. One of the parts is strangely acceptant of what's happening. It's a loud, clear voice; So my mother betrayed me? I mean, what's the big deal? You can forgive her, right? The other part of it, the dark, cold essence in my soul is standing there in my mind. It doesn't need to say anything to me for me to understand what it's telling me; I told you. You can't trust anyone. It's your own fault you didn't leave her sooner, she never wanted you in the first place, see?.. Then the door comes flying open and light floods into the room. Everything goes white. Conor: Land of Eos/Dya ( Aged 15-17 in terms of ageing body, not including years spent as a demon ) After being released from two years in prison with one year cut off from my original sentence for good behaviour, I spent a large amount of time in the country of Eos. I'm not going to go into the details of it all, but it was there that it marked the most significant change in my life; Becoming a demon. Shortly after that the demon Arkaidus Oragen III took me under his wing as his non-biological son, despite the fact we weren't very alike. It was also in Eos that I met some of the demons I know today in Pyro. Whether it was luck or pure coincidence we all ended up in the same location, I shall never know. Of course, not all of my time was spent in Eos. After suffering a huge-scale flood which wiped out the entire country, we ended up in the dangerously hallowed area of Dya, with very little corruption and struggling to survive. The demons finally rose up against this and corruption managed to taint most of the land to the east, creating a proper enviroment for demons. While this war raged on, I decided that there was very little left for me in Dya; My step-brother dead, father suddenly disappeared, and there wasn't enough for me to fight for. No proper reason or motives. I thrust myself upon the road as a traveller, adventuring around the world. Finally I found myself in the countryside of Pyro, a seemingly peaceful land. And it is from there that I am now. At the head of an army of loyal demons. Because as it stands, behind my closed, sealed-off interior, part of my soul still bays for the blood of my enemies. And it is there that lies my biggest hatred; angels.